


Legacies

by twtd



Category: Captain America (2011), Captain Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Nostalgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twtd/pseuds/twtd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Standing in the ashes, there was no way for her to deny it. Half of the club was gone too, empty spaces where there should have been walls, scorch marks where there should have been photos. It would have to be torn down. Rebuilt from the foundations. </p>
<p>Spoilers for Captain Marvel #1 2012.</p>
<p>Carol tries to cope with a hero's death. Steve knows a thing or two about losing the people you love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Legacies

The club -- the _ruins_ of the club -- were too quiet. The air should have been filled with the rumble of prop engines and the clicking of wrenches, drowning out the crunching of her boots against the gravel. Instead, each step echoed. There was still caution tape up, not much of a barrier to curiosity seekers, and even less of one to Carol. She lifted it and stepped under. 

Helen was gone. 

Standing in the ashes, there was no way for her to deny it. Half of the club was gone too, empty spaces where there should have been walls, scorch marks where there should have been photos. It would have to be torn down. Rebuilt from the foundations. 

"Hell of a legacy."

"I seem to be collecting them."

Carol didn't turn around. She had smelled Steve's cologne as he walked up, mingling with the damp, musty smell left over from the fire and the flame retardant.

He stepped up beside her, and rested a hand on her shoulder. “You can handle it.” 

Carol nodded. “Helen was...” She looked down and wiped tears from the corners of her eyes.

“Yeah, she was.” Steve squeezed her shoulder before she moved away and forced him to drop his hand. 

Carol stepped further into the building, through the skeleton of a doorway behind the bar, and into Helen's ad hoc office. Really, it was just an overrated supply closet with a couple of chairs and an unused desk pushed in front of the window. The fire hadn't reached most of it, but the smoke and the water had. The safe, however, looked relatively unscathed. Carol knelt and turned the heavy dial. 

10-14-47.

She knew it as well as she knew her own birthday. 

Steve put his hands in his pockets as the door swung open. Carol held her breath.

Then let it out as she realized nothing was going to jump out at her. It was just paperwork. She flipped through the insurance policies and county licenses, an onion skin birth certificate, and finally a small pile of photographs.

Her own face brought her up short, and something about the change in her posture made Steve come closer. 

She quickly flipped to the next picture, and the next: a new years' party, a space shuttle launch. A boy's 8th birthday. A younger Helen, grease on her cheek, inspecting a propeller blade. People that Carol didn't recognize, celebrating things she could only guess at. She sank down into the soot, eyes unfocused as she shuffled through the last few pictures. 

“Wait.” Carol flinched, startled as Steve reached out. She stopped flipping. 

The picture was of Helen and another woman, arms linked as they walked toward the camera. Helen couldn't have been more 25. The woman she was with was older though, and in a uniform Carol didn't recognize. They looked happy. They looked like friends. Carol turned the picture over.

_Peggy & Helen, Berlin, '63_

Carol only just saw the grief on Steve’s face before he smoothed it away and turned, retreating through the door. 

Carol gathered up the papers and the photographs before she followed him out. 

He was already on his bike, gunning the engine with impatience. By the time she started her car, all that was left of him was a trail of dust. She followed it.


End file.
